the moon just burns above
by MorbidMandy
Summary: In a world where being gay was until recently a crime punishable by death, Magnus Bane has been admitted into the New York Institute, a mental hospital for the insane. Is he really delusional, or is there something more. AU. AH? Malec.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! I know I suck at updating my other stories, but writers block has killed me on those stories for right now. However, I got bitten by the plot bunnies for this fic! I'm making myself stick to a strict publishing schedule, and no chapter will be posted unless I'm at least 3/4 of the way through the next chapter. This should be updated every Sunday, except for the next chapter, which I may post on Wednesday/Thursday, depending on the reception.**

**This is AU, which is a huge change for me, but I hope you like it. It was inspired by the song 'Total Revenge' by Say Anything... at least the last half of it. I hope you like it, because I'm _very_ excited about it. Really really very excited for it.**

**ALSO - if you want updates on this story as well as general dorkiness, follow my tumblr - morbidmandy422 (DOT) tumblr (DOT) com ! Send me an ask and I'll flail with you.**

Since homosexuality had been legalized three weeks ago, the sheer amount of _people_ coming out (both literally and sexually) had stunned most of New York City. Businessmen found themselves jostled by groups of brightly-dressed teenagers holding hands. 'Best Friends' suddenly became more than that, and everyone seemed to be freer.

Everyone, that is, except for nineteen year old Magnus Bane, current resident of one-oh-nothing, Back Alley Avenue. He'd been orphaned at age seven, and after being shuffled to various foster homes and orphanages, he'd run away at age fourteen. He knew that there had been no place for him out there - in a world where he'd be jailed just for loving, his larger differences cast him as the obvious pariah.

A garbage truck rattled down the alley, Magnus pulling in his feet and nodding to Joe, the garbage man who sometimes gave him not-yet-rotten food from the convenience stores. Magnus knew that most people who saw him wouldn't consider helping him. He was taller than most, with hair dyed multicolored by whatever he could get his hands on. He'd gotten his lip and tongue pierced when he was thirteen, and along with a few tattoos he'd managed to pay for through sheer bartering and luck, he painted quite the scary picture. Well not so much scary as... unimpressive.

His hand went out to snap lightly at the cardboard box beside him, smiling softly when a tiny white kitten bounded out and over to curl up in his lap. Chairman Meow. He'd saved the little cat from being drowned by some over-run catlady. It didn't take much to take care of the Chairman, even being homeless and somewhat on the run as Magnus was. A trip to the dumpster of the grocer down the street, and boom. Instant tuna dinner... well, tuna salad with the vegetables picked out, or cans of beans...

Magnus slumped back against the alley wall. Damn, he was hungry. He'd eaten three days ago, an almost-fresh sandwich that Joe brought him... he'd planned on getting something from the grocer, but they'd dumped out their slushee machine on top of all their garbage, so... no dinner there. The Chairman had gotten half a hot dog from some cute little girl holding her mothers hand last night, so he was fine...

Magnus' mind impetuously conjured up memories of his very favorite meal. Once, two years ago, he'd found a hundred-dollar-bill dropped by some mean old man who'd nearly shoved down an old lady in his rush to get a cab. Normally Magnus returned all found money, but he figured this Armani-clad-Scrooge didn't deserve it. So he'd washed up in a convenience store bathroom and taken himself to a fancy bistro in Manhattan. People called him sir and brought him free bread and water with lemon. He'd feasted on the most delicious wild rice and salmon, and he'd felt so decadent as the waiters brought him cup after cup of lemon-ginger green tea. For dessert, he'd had some fluffy concoction with vanilla bean and caramel.

God he would kill for that meal right now. Forget eating almost-fresh food every few days, forget digging through garbage for one unopened package of _anything_. Just... mmm... he could smell it now. The lemony spiciness of the salmon, the nutty smell of the rice, he -

Magnus' eyes flew open. His imagination was good, but not good enough for him to remember that the bread smelled somewhat sweet. He turned his head slightly and - _what the fucking hell_? Sitting beside him, on the crate he normally used as a storage space for his few threadbare blankets, was the full meal he'd just been fantasizing about, complete with delicate gold-painted china, basket of bread and little plastic containers of butter.

Magnus slid off his crate to kneel on the ground in front of the food. It looked delicious. It smelled delicious. But where had it come from? Magnus spared a few seconds to wonder on its origins, but soon decided it didn't matter - he had _food_.

He dug in, moaning at the tender taste of the salmon, the softness of the bread, and the deliciousness of the rice. He fed Chairman Meow pieces of salmon as he savored the bread and the tea, taking his time with enjoying the meal. At last it was finished, and although he wished he'd thought to save some of it for later, he knew that there'd been no chance of that. Now all he wanted was a tall mug of coff-

The familiar aroma of slightly-bitter coffee tickled his nose, and sure enough, there was a mug of coffee - the really nice stuff, from Starbucks, not the too-bitter and thick crap he would buy from the grocers sometimes. Mmm, no, this was hot and milky, sweet and spiced. He was just finishing up his coffee, lazily petting the Chairman and thinking about heading up to Prospect Park to listen to a few of his favorite street musicians, when a sudden crash jolted him to awareness.

Down the alleyway was a man wearing a uniform that filled Magnus with fear. He shooed Chairman Meow away and sat up straighter. The man was dressed in the bland black-and-grey uniform of the New York Institute, the local mental hospital. Before the legalization of homosexuality, their 'Shadowhunters' -so named for their habit of finding patients in the shadows of society - would frequently traverse back alleyways and pick up anyone they thought they could 'heterosexualize'. Magnus had, thankfully, never gotten caught, although it seemed his luck was about to change.

"Hello, Alley-dweller." the mans voice was creaky and scratchy, and Magnus winced at the sound of it. Why on earth the Shadowhunters insisted on calling everyone by where they found escaped him.

The Shadowhunter seemed similar in size and build to the others Magnus had seen. Medium height, muscular, short hair cut close to the head. There was several blades hanging at his side. Magnus knew that at least one of them was the kind that had been created with poison in its very metal. One cut from that could burn the skin. Shadowhunters prided themselves on rarely needing to actually use their weapons, instead using their cunning and _wit_ to ensnare their victims. Still, they always had at least three on them, plus a few other trinkets and prizes hidden away in case anyone tried to pilfer one of their shiny weaponry.

Ragnor Fell - one of Magnus' fellow street-dwellers - tried to steal from a Shadowhunter once. Although Ragnor was the type of person with almost inhuman luck when it came to getting arrested and getting let go, his luck had run out pretty spectacularly. Ragnor had cut the Shadowhunter's belt with a knife, figuring that if he didn't touch any of the blades, there was no chance of getting hurt. What he _hadn't_ realized was that the belt itself was filled with thin capsules of poison. When he'd cut the belt, he'd also cut the capsules, releasing a poison onto his hands and face.

The poison hadn't killed Ragnor, but the Shadowhunter hadn't been very pleased. Ragnor had been gone for almost three months that time, coming back with scars covering his hands, and a rather unfortunate one marring his previously pretty face. He'd also been officially 'spotted' by the Shadowhunters, which meant they were aware of his existence - never a good thing. Last Magnus had heard of Ragnor, he had gotten a legitimate job as an assistant at a bakery, and was engaged to the owner.

"Shadowhunter. What can I do for you on this fine afternoon? I'm queer as a three dollar bill, but that's legal now." Magnus smirked at him, his cockiness coming back with his lack of hunger.

"Where did a street-denizen like you get those fancy dishes? Saving up your bottles for a little treat?" Although his tone was mocking, there was a harshness to it that let Magnus know that if he didn't come up with a believable story, he was getting reported as a possible thief. Harsh, but those without homes were treated like criminals no matter what.

All Magnus had to do was think of a believable story as to where he'd gotten the dishes... unfortunately, Magnus was, at his heart, a shockingly honest person. He'd lied before, but for some reason that day, the truth seemed like the only thing to tell.

"They were just... here."

"Here?" The Shadowhunter raised an eyebrow at him scornfully, "So you just woke up this morning, turned over, and among the cigarette butts and broken glass there was extremely expensive china?"

"No, I just... I just wanted it... it was like magic, okay?" Magnus said, a little defensive. There was something about the Shadowhunters that got him edgy, put him on defense instead of offense. Maybe it was knowing that, above the police, above the government, the Shadowhunters could take you away just because they decided you were too different.

"Magic? Alley-dweller, are you on any mind-foggers or other drugs?"

"Alley-dweller, street-denizen, my, my, you are a sweet-talker. No, Shadowhunter, I'm not _on_ anything."

"If you are not on anything, then you are either delusional or in need of medication. Therefore it is my job to take you to the Institute."

Suddenly Magnus' cocky defensive food-high was leaving him crashing. Shit, shit, shit. Everyone knew that you didn't get sent to the Institute. It was one thing to get arrested, or marked on suspicion of being a thief or being under the influence. Those things got you tossed in jail for a few days - a nice enough place, they fed you well, you got a bed and a bathroom to use - or brought in for counseling - which was a crock cause all they ever did was give you pamphlets about being clean. But being sent to the Institute meant that you were on their radar. It meant that your life was now forfeit - the Institute would _fix you_, even if fixing you meant removing every spot of individuality you had.

"I'm not -"

"Do not resist, Alley-dweller. The Institute will make you better. We'll fix you."

Everything went black.

When Magnus opened his eyes, it was to a room so white and generic that he felt nauseous. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was the alley, and the food, and... Oh no. He was at the Institute. That damn Shadowhunter had brought him here because of his stupid, stupid refusal to lie. Damn it! It would've been so busy - say he'd bought the plates, say he'd stolen them, do anything but suggest that it was _magic_. But it had been... right? It had just appeared there, delicious and hot, just like he remembered it.

Right? He hadn't stolen it... or at least, he didn't think he'd stolen it... but, magic wasn't real, right? Magic was the thing that little kids who hadn't had their mother commit suicide got to believe in. Fairy tales, Cinderella and Snow White and all that. He'd never seen the appeal, but then again, he'd always been a jaded little pessimist.

Magic wasn't real. But then, how had the food gotten there. No matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn't remember. He remembered wanting it, and then it being there. And then when he wanted coffee, that had been there too. Shit. He'd met tweakers who told the same story - they'd wanted that jacket _really bad_, and all of a sudden it was there! Poof! But he wasn't on anything - no drugs, not even those crappy mind-foggers sold by the bucketload at every corner store. No, he'd always made a point to keep himself clean (fat lot of good that did him now, laying on a cot pumped full of who knows what). Could it really be... delusions? Could he really just be delusional? He'd never pegged himself as delusional... but then again, he'd never had things appear in front of him before.

Maybe... maybe this was all for the best. Maybe he should just... let go...

Those were his last coherent, conscious thoughts for a while.

**Tell me what you think about it so far? How do you think the other characters will come into it? Give me your feelings and speculations!**

**3 MM**


	2. Chapter 2

**I know I said I would put this up on Wednesday, but... er... life happened? I'm already breaking my rule about having the next chapter mostly written, but I should have it done and up next Sunday! :)**

**Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews! I got a few questions, unfortunately I can't answer any without giving away large chunks of the plot. I loved hearing everyones guesses about what people are going to be, and you'll find out about a few of them in this chapter. I still want to hear what you think the others will be!**

The next few days are a blur for Magnus. A blur of pills and doctors and the smell of bleach. He wakes up four days later, alert and shockingly aware. The bed beneath him is surprisingly soft, even if the sheets are scratchy and the pillow thin. Other than the bed, there's a chair (screwed into the floor) and a small table (also screwed into the floor). There's a piece of paper on the table, and Magnus' eyes snap to it. For a moment he allows himself to entertain the thought that it will be some sort of letter of release. A letter saying that oh, they're so sorry, he's not delusional at all, and of course he's free to go. But Magnus know better, and so, wincing as he sits up for the first time in days, he drags himself over to the table.

The paper is stark white, matching the rest of the room, with blue type. The top proclaims it as 'MAGNUS BANE'S SCHEDULE', and the rest is a mass of days and labels. Every day he has a meeting with some sort of doctor or therapist - some are just words he assumes are names (Mondays and Thursdays with M. Lightwood, Tuesdays and Saturday with R. Lightwood), while others are actual things (Wednesdays and Fridays are Art Therapy, while Thursday and Saturday are Life Therapy), and Sundays it looks like he has a myraid of medical testings.

There's also a list of medication, with names like Illusionater, UnDaFar, and FogOut. FogOut he recognizes...Ragnor used to deal it to some younger urchins. It's a mind-fogger, stronger than the kind you get at the corner store, sold only by the best doctors. It makes sense that the Institute would start pumping him full of them. Even Ragnor had stopped selling them because he thought they were too strong, and Ragnor would sell anything. Magnus had always avoided mind-foggers - if there was one thing he hated, it was being off his game.

According to the schedule (and the electric screen displaying the date and time above his door), he had about twenty minutes before he had his first meeting with Dr. M. Lightwood. Fuck. He hated doctors - especially ones that tried to figure out your mind and make it more... socially acceptable. Fuck social acceptance. Magnus might try and keep out of the public eye, but it wasn't for the betterment of society. He knew that the rest of the world would look down on him for having dyed hair, piercings, and tattoos, and he didn't want to deal with those assholes.

Magnus sighed, reaching up to touch his lip - to his surprise, they hadn't removed his piercings. No doubt a way to butter him up. A way to say 'see? We aren't changing you, just making you _better_'. Well he didn't fucking care. Well. He kind of did. At least about his tongue - the few times he'd taken it out, it had hurt like hell putting back in. And as tough as Magnus liked to appear, he had a very, VERY low pain threshold.

Magnus flung himself down in the chair, wincing at the cold hard metal. He stretched out his legs, lazily examining the rest of the room. From his position on the bed he hadn't noticed the screen above the door, displaying the date and time; the bed itself, surprisingly big (and soft), with a pale blue blanket; the sink at the side; or a small box at the end of the bed. Magnus glanced at the clock again, and when he saw that he still had a good fifteen minutes, crept over to open the box. Inside were two pairs of cloth pants - one white, one pale blue; three shirts - blue, white, and pale blue; several pairs of thick white socks; and a few toiletries.

Magnus was considering trying to wash up at the sink, when the door opened. A woman entered, tall and imposing. This must be M. Lightwood, Magnus thought as he straightened up and turned to her. She wore a power suit and heels, her black hair pulled back into a tight bun. She looked as if she may have once be considered beautiful, but her beauty had faded and hardened into an impenetrable mask.

"Mr. Bane." her voice fit her perfectly, Magnus thought absentmindedly, hard and soft at the same time, with an overall feeling of blandness, like a computerized voice.

"Dr. Lightwood." he said, nodding to her.

"Please, call me Dr. Maryse. My husband and I run the New York Institute, and calling both of us Dr. Lightwood would get a little confusing. Now, normally in our sessions we'd talk about some of your... issues... but since it's your first time off mind-foggers since you've got here, I thought you might like to take a nice shower, and change into some clean clothes? The New York Institute kindly provides all patients with clothing and toiletries, which you'll find at the end of your bed." Dr. Maryse gave a bland smile, gesturing out the door.

Magnus felt, for the first time since arriving, a frisson of excitement. He was going to leave his room - get a good look at the Institute. Maybe there'd be a window in the bathroom he could climb out of - there's no way Dr. Maryse would go in there with him, right? He grabbed the box and nearly skipped out the door - and right into a wall of flesh.

"This is Jace, and he'll be your escort. Please take Mr. Bane to Shower Room 752 and then straight back here." Dr. Maryse closed the door behind her, leaving Magnus staring up at the sullen-looking teen.

"C'mon." Jace grunted, pulling Magnus down the hall to a door marked with the letters SR, and the number 752.

Once inside, Magnus pulled himself into a shower stall, stripping and turning on the water. It looked like any escape attempts would have to be at a time when he wasn't being escorted by Mister Tall-Blond-and-Grumpy.

"You're a little young to be an employee of the Institute, aren't you?" Magnus asked as he made a face at the generic plastic-wrapped soap and sponge.

"For your information, I'm eighteen."

"Still, most Shadowhunters are a bit older, aren't they?"

"I started here when I was fifteen."

"Young."

"Yeah. Community service - but I liked locking up loonies so much I decided to stick with it."

"Ha-ha. Community service? The reformed bad boy - makes a good sob story to sell to new inmates, I suppose. Still, I can't say you don't fit the bill - somehow I imagine you as more of a law-breaker than a law-upholder."

"It's not a sob story. I was fifteen, thought that it was a good idea to lift some blades from a knife shop. The Shadowhunters picked me up, and the Lightwood's decided that I needed rehabilitation more than I needed treatment. So, I served my time as an indentured servant, and now... it's not a bad job. Pay's good, the Lightwood's let me board here, and I don't have to worry about meals."

Magnus thought that over while he finished showering.

"You don't feel guilty about it, taking people and shoving them into these little rooms without knowing if they need it?"

"Guilty? Not really. Most people do need it and, if they don't... well, I don't know them, so why should I care?"

"How empathetic." Magnus said, turning off the water. The soap smelled like lemons (he hated lemons - well, actually he loved lemons, but he hated the soapy-lemon smell),the water had fluctuated between freezing cold and scalding hot, and he'd had to use the soap on his hair - his _hair_. While he'd never exactly been able to afford the high-end shampoo he desired, the free crap from hotels had still left his hair feeling more lustrous than this rough crap.

"Empathy is for losers. You look out for yourself, your family, that's it." Jace said.

Magnus pulled on the white pair of pants, the blue shirt, and a pair of socks, sighing as he folded his black jeans and grey t-shirt up, shoving his purple studded belt, his bits of jewelry, and his heeled black snakeskin boots in the box. There was no gel to be found, which was fine, since he normally had to go without it anyway, but he'd always felt tougher... more able to stand under pressure, when he could spike his hair.

"You live under a very shitty philosophy, you know that?" Magnus said as he exited the shower stall, running his fingers through his hair.

"That's your opinion, Mr. Bane. And forgive me if I'm not exactly anxious to win the approval of someone in a mental institute."

"Touche, pretty boy, touche."

"Pretty boy?" Jace asked as he launched himself out of his perch on a stool, shoving the door open and leading Magnus back out into the generic white hallway.

"Well, you're pretty enough, I suppose, for me to get away with calling you that. I'd go with 'Stupid Arrogant Attractive Prick', but that's a bit of a mouthful."

"Ah, this is how it always starts. Pet names, flirtation, next thing I know you've covered your walls in poems about me."

"Poetry was never my forte."

"Shame that."

"Although I am a bit of an artist..."

"Painting of me in your blood?"

"I was thinking more your blood."

"Of course."

The door to Magnus' room snapped open as they approached, and Dr. Maryse stepped out.

"Hello Mr. Bane. Jace, here, take this old clothing away - "

Magnus opened his mouth to protest the loss of his clothing - the last vestiges of his former life - but a shake of his head from Jace, and he grudgingly handed them over, keeping the box (with his belt, shoes, and jewelry) tucked under his arm.

"-and come inside, Mr. Bane. We need to start your session now."

Magnus went inside, feeling an odd pang of sorrow when the door closed. He didn't care much for Jace, but it had been a while since he'd found someone he could banter with. Ragnor had been good, but there had always been a risk of being near Ragnor - no one else Magnus knew got picked up as often. For dealing - anything, really; for stealing - from a goddamned convenience store; and almost anything else. Bantering made him feel alive.

He shoved the box partially under the bed, then flopped down on it. Damn, what did they have him on that made the simple act of showering and walking so exhausting? He just wanted to roll over and sleep the rest of the day away. But somehow he figured Dr. Maryse wouldn't like that so much.

"Now, now, Mr. Bane. Why don't we sit down at the table."

Magnus raised his head to point out the lack of two chairs, but alas, magically - er, _somehow_ - Dr. Maryse had gotten another screwed-in chair beside the table during the time he'd been in the shower. He dragged himself over to the table, resisting the urge to melodramatically throw himself in the chair. He had to remember - try and appear as sane as possible. So for now, he was an actor - playing the part of sane, normal person. His tattoos, multicolored hair, and piercings probably didn't help him any, but every good actor has a handicap, right?

"Now. Mr. Bane - may I call you Magnus?"

Magnus nodded slowly.

"Magnus. From what I've read of your file you have had quite a past. Or rather, quite a lack of one. You ran away at fourteen and haven't been heard from in five years. What have you been doing all this time?"

Magnus bit back a sarcastic retort, "Living? Um, rather, nothing really."

"Oh come on, Magnus. You have to have had a way of supporting yourself."

Shoving back memories of men in business suits straightening their ties and tossing twenties on the bed, Magnus decided to go with a few of his more recent business ventures.

"I dabbled. Drew pictures in the park for a few dollars each. Carried peoples bags while they went shopping. Things like that."

"No illegal activities? Remember, Magnus, nothing you say while in the New York Institute will be used against you in a court of law."

There was something about the way she said it - a court of law - that made him wonder if there wasn't a different court he would be brought up against. He'd heard the rumors, of course, everyone had. About the powers that be, the Clave, and how there was another sect, entrenched in all the different cities Institute's, that controlled the Clave from behind the scenes. Of course, it was hard to imagine the Clave _not_ being controlled by someone else. Group of old men and women, all peacefully hashing out the laws? Ridiculous, especially when you considered the infighting common throughout states. New York's was especially bad - the Albany, Buffalo, and Syracuse Institutes were all against New York City's Institute being called just The New York Institute. Which was why all employees seemed to insist on calling it that - the New York Institute.

Dr. Maryse - fuck that, _Maryse_ - was still looking at him in that way she had - a bored, detatched exterior, underneath which lurked an anxious sort of cruelty. As if she hoped Magnus would start sobbing as he recounted a life spent as a destitute and derelict prostitute. Well, if she was, she was going to be disappointed. Magnus had only actually gone through with it once, and even then he'd started sobbing before the man could remove more than his shirt. The guy had gotten dressed, paid Magnus, and left. At the time it had seemed a little off - nothing had happened, really, except for some kissing and gentle touching. But the man had shoved almost $300 in Magnus' hands - _and_ paid the room for two more days. With his _credit card_. Which meant Magnus spent a deliciously decadent few days ordering hot fudge sundaes and taking long soaks in the hot tub.

"No. Nothing illegal."

"But you knew of illegal going ons? It says here that you've been seen with one Ragnor Fell. He's been in and out of the courts so often they have a seat just for him." Maryse's attempt at humor fell flat.

"I've known Ragnor since I was thirteen."

"Ah, yes. You were placed with the Fell's for a few months, weren't you. Ragnor was seventeen at the time, was he not?"

"Yes."

"And what was your relationship with Mr. Fell at the time?"

"Foster brother? Friend?"

"What I mean is, did your relationship turn inappropriate?"

"First of all, it's not inappropriate anymore, it's perfectly legal and there's no retroactive shit, okay? Second of all, hell no. Ragnor keeps his hands to himself, eh?" Magnus said, perhaps a bit too forcefully, because Maryse simply raised an eyebrow and scribbled something down on her pad. It was just - Ragnor really was like a brother to him. They hated each other sometimes, but they loved each other more. Ragnor had been trying to get Magnus to move in with him and his fiancé for almost two weeks now, and Magnus had seriously been considering taking him up on his offer.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Magnus. The Fell's was one of the last homes you were placed with, yes? May I ask why you were transferred?"

Magnus shut his eyes for a moment. Fuck.

"They sent me back for corrupting their son." Little did they know how corrupted their son was. He may not have ever had any romantic attraction to Magnus, but he did to every other hot-blooded male in the tristate area.

"Corrupting their son?"

"I was gay. Ragnor was gay. Well, they suspected I was gay. And they found Ragnor making out with his best friend." and hadn't that been the worst day of his life. Melinda Fell had been all for sending Ragnor and him _both_ away, straight away, to the Institute, but Damon Fell had just sent Magnus back and kicked Ragnor out as soon as he turned eighteen. Ragnor had been trying to make it up to Magnus for years - Magnus didn't blame Ragnor at all, couldn't, really, but the Fell's had been the only home he'd liked.

"And how did that make you feel?"

Magnus struggled not to roll his eyes, "Crappy? Depressed?"

Maryse didn't say anything, just wrote something in her book. Somehow Magnus knew it wasn't anything positive. After a few minutes of loaded silence, he spoke again.

"The Fell's were nice to me. They didn't care that I had piercings or a tattoo. They wanted me to be creative. Just - not gay. Never gay. The same with Ragnor. They could've cared less that he had bleached hair with blue and purple highlights. Or that his arm had a barcode on it. Or that when scanned, the barcode proclaimed that he was apparently a pack of highlighters."

"So, after they sent you back, you were sent where?"

"The Swallowfir's."

"And how was your time with them?"

"Sucked. They fought a lot."

"After that?"

"The Silent Brothers Group Home."

"Ah, yes. The Silent Brothers Group Home. Wonderful place, we get a lot of transfers from them,"

Of course you do, Magnus thought.

"Why did you run away from there?"

"I was too much for them."

"Too much?"

"I had piercings and tattoos and dyed hair and they all had shaved heads and read a lot about nature. We didn't exactly mix well."

"Hmmm..." Maryse scribbled something down, "How long did you stay with the Silent Brothers?"

"Seven weeks." Of pure hell.

"Hmm... well, Magnus, unfortunately our time is just about up for today. I'm not sure if you had a chance to look over your schedule, but tomorrow you have therapy with my husband, Dr. Robert Lightwood. He'll discuss with you more of what your life here at the New York Institute will be like. Lunch should be here soon, then the librarian will be by with a book cart, and you may read until six, when dinner will be served. Then it's lights-out at nine-thirty. If you need to use the facilities or if you need help, you can press this button by the door. I will see you Thursday. Goodbye, Magnus."

There was something very final about her leaving. The way she turned as soon as she spoke his name, shutting the door quickly behind her. Magnus hadn't even gotten a chance to stand up. His mind was swirling, and with the still-lingering effects of the mind-fogger, it was very disconcerting indeed. Still, it sounded as if they weren't going to be locking him up with nothing to do, at least. He'd never really... read, but that didn't mean he was opposed to it. He'd just never had the money for books.

There was a soft knock at the door, and then it opened. A young woman entered, carrying a large tray with her. Magnus had assumed that Jace would be bringing his lunch, but it made sense that there would be numerous nurses.

"Hello, Mr. Bane. I'm Isabelle Lightwood. Your file didn't say anything about you having any allergies, but we put you on an allergic meal just in case." The girl gave the impression of great height, although, as Magnus stood to take the tray from her, he realized that a large amount of that was from her impressive stiletto heels, as well as her overall aura. He knew immediately that she must be the daughter of his doctors, because she looked like a much younger version of her mother. They shared their dark black hair and slim, willowy build. They weren't dressed the same, although that may have been due to her wearing what seemed to be the uniform for the Institute's nurses - white pants and dark green shirts - but her daring footwear hinted at a more creative, slightly wild side.

"I don't have any allergies that I know of."

"Alright, I'll mark that on your chart." Isabelle flashed him a smile, making a mark on a clipboard before reaching into her pocket and pulling something out, "We're not supposed to give any of the patients things that aren't from the kitchens, but I know it must be hard adjusting to a new place."

Isabelle handed him what turned out to be a king-sized candy bar - his favorite kind, too, the kind that Ragnor would get him for his birthday. Maybe it was stupid, but it did kind of make him feel better. Chocolate had a way of doing that.

"Thank you." Magnus said, and - holy shit, was he seriously about to tear up over a candy bar? Apparently, because he was sniffling now and hoping it would go unnoticed. No such luck, however.

Isabelle wrapped her arms around him and hugged him for a moment before pulling back and smiling sadly at him.

"Don't tell my mom or dad I did that, okay? They'd kill me - they're certain I'm going to get too close to a patient one day and get myself in trouble. But I can tell. There's some people who need to be in here. But then there's people like you - you... you don't belong here. Most people don't." There was something in her face, something sad and tragic and scared, and it made Magnus want to hug her, so he did. She hugged back (thankfully, because all he needed was to be put into lockup for hugging the doctor's daughter).

After a long minute, she pulled back, wiped her eyes, and, with a smile, left. Magnus stood there for a moment, just looking at the door. How was it that someone so... utterly boring and mean as Maryse Lightwood could have such a sweet daughter? Eh well. Maybe it was the father - he'd meet R. Lightwood tomorrow. In the meantime, he had the no doubt nutritious lunch provided by the Institute. Sure enough, when he pulled off the lid (with a grand flourish, because Magnus had a thing for flair), it was a depressingly healthy meal. Chopped up chicken mixed with peas and carrots on a piece of wheat bread. A tiny carton of milk. Grapes. Apple slices. And a piece of paper.

Magnus dug into his food as he read the piece of paper, eyebrows raising as he went on. Well, it seemed as if the Institute wasn't as awful with food as it seemed. There was an option for vegetarian meals, for kosher meals, for protein-high meals, no- and low-fat meals, etc. Magnus skipped most boxes ascertaining to healthiness - he would be more than happy to inhale 5000 calories a day if he could, it would be such a nice change from not eating at all. There were a few options at the bottom for meal preferences. He made his choices while trying to make his apple slices and grapes make a filling end to the meal. They didn't give much of a choice beyond 'hot meal' 'cold meal' for breakfasts and lunches.

After lunch he sat around poking at the sink and the bed. He ate a quarter of his candy bar, savoring it and hiding it under his bed, in between the leg of the bed and the boxspring. Living with so many different foster families, Magnus had become an expert at hiding things under his bed. It was an art form - you couldn't make it obvious you were hiding something, but you had to hide it well enough that someone stripping your bed wouldn't find it.

About a half an hour after he finished eating, there was another knock on the door, and in came a middle-aged man pushing a rather large cart.

"Hello, you must be Magnus Bane." There was something about the man that made Magnus instantly feel at ease around him. His clothes were worn, his hands ink-stained, and he had a faintly bewildered air about him, as if he'd just looked up from a book to find a changing world around him, "I'm Lucian Graymark. You can call me Luke."

"Hello Luke." Magnus said, eyeing his cart in trepidation.

"Ah, not a big reader, I take it? Well, what would you like to start with? I could give you the classics, or the literature-y classics, or the popular fiction, or sci-fi, romance, fantasy - anything you'd like."

"Er..." Magnus wasn't big on anything 'classic', although he figured he would read them later, it was perhaps better to ease himself into this. Fantasy was a little too close to magic, and he was terrified what Maryse might do if she thought he was hung up on magic. But at the same time, he'd heard so much great stuff about fantasy...

"How about I give you some of my favorites? Here, have these few. Michael Crichton is a really good science fiction author, and Wizard of Earthsea is pretty good as well, and - oh - here, David Copperfield, it's a classic, but not too hard to get into."

It was a lot more books than Magnus had planned on taking - especially as Luke continued to add more to his pile - but he supposed he really had nothing but time. Finally, after a few more minutes, Luke left, leaving Magnus with a dozen books, and nothing but time. Magnus laid back on the bed and cracked open one of the books. He quickly lost himself in the storytelling of Charles Dickens. Within minutes however, despite his interest in the book, he was asleep, face pressed into the pages.

**So? Did you like it? I tried to stay in-character with everyone, although some voices (like Luke and Isabelle) were harder than others (like Jace).**

**:D**


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